


Pilot

by anniedison, orphan_account



Series: one by one they all just fade away [1]
Category: Community (TV), Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community AU, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniedison/pseuds/anniedison, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire’s first day of community college is unexpectedly derailed by a pretty girl, a pop culture geek, and a class in fine art appreciation that was NOT on his schedule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilot

Enjolras nearly gnashed his teeth together with frustration before stopping himself - then he remembered that he didn’t have braces anymore (thank  _god_ ) and resumed gnashing his teeth with vigor. 

He’d hit dead ends three times in this stupid mess of hallways. The first had been a long corridor ending in an unexpected mirror that made him jump; the second one had had a cat flap that he attempted to squeeze through in his desperation (and was devoutly thankful nobody was watching).  _This_  time he was hit in the face by a bookshelf (which seemed to consist entirely of books about bread).

"You lost?" came a voice from directly behind him. 

"No," he replied automatically. " _Definitely_  not.” Enjolras turned around to see a man who would have been rather pleasant-looking if he was talking to somebody who was not already five minutes late. 

"Seriously,” the man cocked an eyebrow, “you look very lost to me. What do you have first?"

Enjolras swallowed and clenched his fists around his now very-wrinkled schedule.

“None of your business.”

"Oh, honestly, give me that," the man said, snatching the sheet from Enjolras’s hands. "Lucky you, you’ve got the crap Spanish teacher. You should’ve doubled back instead of trying to get through the cat flap. And then turned right. Second door." 

"You saw that?" groaned Enjolras, trying desperately not to blush. 

"Unfortunately,” the man grinned.

“ _Don’t patronize me!_ ”

"I’m not, I swear! And besides, you nearly got through, it was just your left foot - "

"Shut  _up_.”

"Sorry. I’m Combeferre, by the way. Aka the axe-murderer who haunts the hallways." He extended his hand frankly. 

"Enjolras. Aka I really don’t want to be here," he said, giving Combeferre’s hand a tentative shake. 

"Lighten up, I don’t really have an axe. I’m just the crap Spanish teacher’s TA. You’re in for a shit year, let me tell you. Should’ve taken French, honestly. Or Pig Latin. You could’ve scraped a B in Pig Latin without even trying. It’s impossible to get an A in that class, anyway. Like actually impossible. The letter A isn’t even in the grading system - total hell to pronounce."

Combeferre kept rambling, and Enjolras was beginning to feel dizzy. “…Right,” he cut him off, “But how screwed am I? For the class I’m  _actually_  taking?”

"Very." 

"Define ‘very’."

"It’s like…okay, it’s like walking down a set of stairs in the dark except you miss a step. Like that, except there’s a hellish cesspool with overgrown albino alligators under you and then you die a horrific death cut up into ten pieces."

Enjolras knotted his eyebrows together. 

"Fine, I guess I was exaggerating. Make it nine pieces."

“ _Well_  then. This - ” Enjolras squinted at his schedule while resolutely turning away, ” - this Javert idiot does not know what he’s up against.”

"Keep telling yourself that," muttered Combeferre after Enjolras’s retreating figure. He shook his head sadly. "God, he is so screwed." 

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Grantaire!”

Oh, shit. It was the… _thing_ …who got stuck next to him at orientation. Grantaire almost tried to pretend he didn’t hear the over-eager voice, but then decided that that would be kind of stupid, considering the kid was standing right in front of him.

“Hey, um…Marty, how’s it going?” Grantaire replied, attempting to casually look for any easy out. 

“Marius,” the kid corrected, seemingly unperturbed, “And all right. What do you think of the Spanish professor?”

“Completely crazy,” Grantaire said flatly. He was still looking for a way to cut the conversation short when sudden inspiration struck him. “Hey, do you know the name of that hot brunette in our class?”

Marius frowned. “Front right or back left?”

“Back left. Front right wasn’t that hot.”

Marius conceded with a shrug.  

“Back left is Eponine Thenardier. Twenty-two, sociology major. Hates cats.”

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Not bad.” He clapped Marius on the shoulder, made some excuse about having class, and left to find Eponine.

It turned out she was in the cafeteria, studying. After running a quick hand through his hair, he suavely slipped into the seat in front of her.

“Buenos dias, chica,” he said with his trademark grin.

Eponine glanced up from the textbook in front of her and quickly flicked her eyes across him. Not conventionally handsome. Or unconventionally handsome, really. But there was something in the twist of his smile and sardonic grey eyes that was…gripping, to say the least. 

“Not interested,” she replied, turning back to her book. (It’s not like she could let him know that she probably knew more about him than he did about her. According to the guy to her left in Spanish class, he was Grantaire - twenty-five, ex-lawyer, current asshole. He’d apparently faked his age and degree and  _everything_  before he got found out. She had to try very hard to not be impressed.) 

Grantaire threw a hand over his heart, mock-offended.

“You wound me,” he said, attempting to give her his best puppy-dog eyes, which didn’t really work considering she wasn’t looking at him. “I was just going to ask you…” he floundered for a moment before his eyes lighted upon the textbook in her hands. “…if you wanted to join my Spanish study group! For the quiz tomorrow and all, you know?”

Eponine looked back up at him, eyebrow arched. “ _You_  have a Spanish study group?” She didn’t sound convinced.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Grantaire replied, trying for a winning smile.

She laughed; he wasn’t sure if it meant that it worked or not. 

“Do you even know Spanish?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging easily. “Tu eres un burro, mi casa es su casa, te amo.”

Eponine laughed again, shaking her head. “Right, and that was supposed to convince me?”

"That’s kind of why I need a study group." He winked before adding, "Group of two, I mean."

Eponine gave him a strange, searching once-over before throwing her bag over her shoulder and getting up. “Fine. Study room F. Seven P.M. sharp. Be there.” 

Grantaire was so shocked that it actually worked he almost fell out of his chair. 

 

* * *

 

Enjolras was leaning against the door of study room F at 6:57, trying to look nonchalant. Which was extremely difficult since one-fourth of his brain was wondering if this was the right room, one-fourth of his brain wasn’t completely sure this was even the right time, the third quarter of his brain was a bit iffy on whether Marius had asked  _him_  to come here and not some person behind him, and the rest of his brain just wanted sleep. He yawned, then ran a hand through his hair in an effort to look like he was cool,  _totally_  cool - like the kind of  _cool_  person who stood against doors for a living. 

"Hey, is this study room F? I mean, I know it’s a study room, but you’re blocking the F bit. It probably doesn’t go from E to G without an F in the middle, but this school is  _weird_ , you know? I saw a kid trying to get through a cat flap this morning, so…”

Looking up, Enjolras locked eyes with a ridiculously pretty blonde, twirling a strand of bright blue hair around one of her fingers and noisily chewing gum. “Holy shit. Cosette?”

"You know my name? How the hell…" she looked down. "I’m not wearing a nametag or anything, am I? The last time this happened, I had one of those things on my shirt, and - "

"Cosette Fauchelevant? You…you don’t…recognize…?"

"Never seen you before in my life."

"Never?" Enjolras repeated dumbly, looking slightly crushed and almost tempted to confess that he was the cat flap idiot. 

"Wait, you’re in Spanish with me, right?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, that’s it. I don’t know how you’d know me from that though, ‘cause you wouldn’t have seen me - I’m right behind you." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "You were the only person in the room actually taking notes. Which seems kind of pointless…anyways, what do you think of this Javert dude? I mean, seriously, I don’t trust anyone who speaks Spanish in a fake accent which is actually a French accent disguised as a British accent. I also couldn’t understand a word he was saying, which is why I really need this study group - " 

Cosette suddenly turned the door handle, and Enjolras, still leaning against it, gave an unfortunate squeaking noise and fell head-first into the room in a distinctly un-cool way. 

"Those are your two, Marius?" came a disgruntled voice. "They don’t look like much. Total airheads - I mean, you got us the cat flap moron?"

Enjolras brushed off his knees and made a face.

“Excuse  _you_. And how do you even know, anyway? How did  _anyone_  know? I swear to god the hallway was empty - “ 

“Well I think you could use some glasses, young man,” croaked a wrinkly old raisin of a man sitting in the corner.

A middle-aged man with greying ginger hair chuckled appreciatively.

"Eponine, Mabeuf, Feuilly - that’s enough. I’m sure they’ll be fine," said Marius placatingly. "Enjolras, Cosette - I guess you should sit down? We have…one minute, thirty-two seconds." 

The one minute, thirty-two seconds, slowly turned into half an hour. The six people at the table weren’t speaking, excepting Marius - who was eagerly discussing the sitcom-worthiness of their situation with Cosette (who wasn’t listening at all).

“I guess Grantaire and Eponine’ll be a thing now - first season arc and all that, don’t you think?”

"Fascinating," muttered Cosette, idly turning a page of her textbook. 

Enjolras had read and reread all of chapter one, and was miserably flicking through the text messages on his cell while trying not to fall asleep. Three from the phone provider, one from a wrong number asking for some guy called Jeff’s address, and a startling five from Combeferre this morning, which were:

1) I told you you were screwed. 

2) I TOLD YOU SO. 

3) It’s polite to answer people, Enjolras. Especially when they’re using complete sentences for you. THIS TAKES EFFORT. 

4) Oh, wait. We’re in class right now. Javert is staring at me. You can probably see that, though. If his eyes were lasers, I’d be dead. No joke. 

5) …God, I’m an idiot. 

Enjolras stifled a laugh, when the door suddenly banged open. 

"Hey, darling," called Grantaire. "Is this fashionably late or…oh, god, who are these people?"

Eponine smirked. “Best and brightest minds of our generation. Also the last generation. Also…the less-bright minds. I mean, I don’t see why you should have an objection.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the table for lack of an actual chair. He glanced around the filled seats. Eponine was looking infuriatingly smug and Marius was the only person who looked happy to be there. There were three weird people at the other end he didn’t recognize - an aged relic, a guy screaming into his phone that apparently ‘ _you can’t put your brother into the washing machine!’_ , and some stupid girl trying to blow a bubble from chewing gum and only succeeding in making a face like a fish. And then the male model next to him with a pile of highlighters and color-coded notes. He seemed vaguely familiar - he was the one who’d ran into class ten minutes late with cat hair on his shirt. But no, seriously, he looked like one of those Greek statues, except overly clothed in a shirt that was buttoned up entirely too high (for Grantaire’s taste, at least).

Marius followed Grantaire’s gaze.

“Ooh,” he said under his breath. “Plot twist.”

Okay. So the kid was really hot. Like super incredibly amazingly hot. Unfairly hot.

Grantaire shook his head to clear it.

No, he thought firmly, he was probably like what, eighteen? If that. And besides, he reasoned, there are lots of hot people in the world. 

Then again, eighteen was legal. Immoral, but very,  _very_  legal.

Grantaire glanced at the kid surreptitiously. He was casually flicking a perfect strand of golden hair out of his perfect and ridiculously blue eyes with a perfectly tanned and elegant hand.

Fuck. Okay, so maybe denial wouldn’t work. Anyway, it didn’t matter. This was obviously just pure aesthetic appreciation. 

The kid seemed to notice Grantaire staring; he nodded seriously, but inadvertently quirked his lip upward (fuckfuck _fuck_  his stupid smile was perfect too—) and extended an almost shy hand.

“Hi, I’m Enjolras. Eponine invited Marius who invited me; I hope you don’t mind.” There was a casual sarcasm with the ‘I hope you don’t mind’ that was perfectly irresistible, and - oh,  _god_. 

Grantaire shook his hand and tried to remember how to form coherent sentences. Which was very difficult, considering that Enjolras had far-from-perfect hands, with terribly bitten nails - and the thought of those perfect teeth and those perfect lips around his mostly perfect fingers wasn’t helping things. 

“Grantaire,” he finally managed to choke out, “And no, I don’t mind at all.”

"So, guys…?" ventured Eponine tentatively, snapping Grantaire out of it. 

"Oh. Huh. So who are the rest of you? I mean, besides our Adonis  - " he tapped a very puzzled Enjolras on his perfect shoulder " - and Marty - "

"Marius, actually. But I get the misremembered name trope you’re trying to pull off - "

Grantaire held up a hand. “Spare me. Anyways…” He pointed around the table. 

"Cosette," said the girl, slightly belligerently. 

"Feuilly," said the one with the phone, closing it with a snap. Grantaire resisted the urge to groan because A) who even had flip phones anymore? and B) how the hell did you spell that monstrosity of a name?

"Mabeuf," said the old one. He extended a hand; nobody took it. "I’ve taken this class five times and still haven’t passed!"

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and Grantaire wondered when eyes (that weren’t his own) became so sexy. 

Mabeuf looked slightly offended and mumbled something about youngsters these days.

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “It’s all pretty basic, considering you’ve all read chapter one. Did you…even…?”

There were no answers; just a general awkward shuffling of papers and downcast eyes.

Enjolras was tempted to beat his head against the table.

"So yeah," Grantaire airily broke the silence, "I think this study session is definitely a write-off. Maybe we should just…go home. Screw the quiz." Still sitting on the table, he started lazily swinging his legs and accidentally-on-purpose kicked Enjolras’s knee. 

Marius nodded wisely. “Mm, makes sense. There’s no reason for you to want to pick up Eponine anymore because - “

Grantaire turned very green.

“Marius, shut  _up_ , I have no  _idea_  what you’re talking about - “ 

“You’re ruining the misremembered name trope –“

 “I tried to make it more legitimate, I really did,” Eponine was saying, “I mean, you were supposed to actually do  _some_  shit before taking me out to dinner - “

Enjolras, very pale, stood up and glared at Grantaire.

“So this whole thing is bogus, huh? Nice going. And now I’ve got myself stuck in a roomful of  _morons_  who’ve made lousy life choices - “

"Listen,  _sweetheart_ ,” cut in Feuilly with dangerously narrow eyes, “my wife may have left me, I may not be able to save my eight-year-old from a washing machine, and I may not know a single word of Spanish, but I am not going to get sassed by a stupid kid.” He took a deep breath. “And I think this stupid kid should decide whether he wants to be considered a child or an adult, because a child gets pity, but not respect, and adults can get respect but they can also get grabbed by the hair and have their faces put through jukeboxes.”

Enjolras turned even paler and took a step back before grumbling, “I wasn’t talking to  _you_..” He paused and pointed at Cosette. “ _She_  - she thinks she has the right to waltz back into my life, pretend she doesn’t know me - it’s not like she even noticed me back  _then_ , but - “

"Me?" squeaked Cosette indignantly.

"Look, your glory days are over, okay?” Enjolras nearly shouted, making angry hand gestures. “Still wearing your high school letter jacket, Miss Prom Queen - you could’ve gone to Stanford, but  _no_ , like a dumb jock, you go and trip over a hurdle - “

Cosette looked very lost. "How did you know - "

"I laughed when you broke your leg, you know?  _Laughed_.”

Grantaire noted Enjolras’s firm jaw and the almost maniacal look in his eyes. He looked pained.

When Cosette’s voice came back to her, it was shrill. “Oh,  _you_. I remember. You’re the addict, huh? Oh, poor nerdy Enjolras, skipped twelfth grade graduation for  _rehab_!”

"You  _what_?” blurted Grantaire, but nobody heard him - because  _that_  was when all hell broke loose. 

Marius started babbling about unconventional pairings; Grantaire was screaming at Marius for blowing his cover while still trying to wrap his head around the idea of Enjolras (in rehab?); Marius was shooting back James Bond lines with aplomb, blaming Grantaire for blowing his  _own_  cover. 

Enjolras was not holding his own against the combined forces of Cosette and Feuilly, who had somehow gotten himself involved again, but he looked damn good while speechifying. His hair was flying and his cheeks were very pink and his teeth flashed just enough to make Grantaire stutter. 

Eponine slowly backed away undetected from Mabeuf, who was shaking his fist at her and every other uncivilized brat in the room, and poked Grantaire in the back. 

"Ow!"

"Do something!" she hissed.

"You do something!"

"This is all  _your_  fault!”

"Fine," Grantaire groaned. "Everybody?” Nobody stopped. He took a deep breath, then yelled, “ _Everybody - sit down, and shut up!_ ’

They obeyed. Grantaire did seem to have that special  _something_.

“Okay –“ Grantaire began, attempting to collect his thoughts. “Okay. You know what makes humans different from other animals?”

The other five looked at each other in confusion.

“We are the only species on Earth that observes Shark Week. Sharks don’t even have Shark Week, but we do.”

Mabeuf looked like he thought Grantaire was crazy (most likely because he still didn’t have cable TV).

Grantaire pressed on, “Why? For the same reason I can pick up this pencil, tell you its name is Steve, then go like this,” he paused to snap the pencil, drawing several audible gasps, “And part of you dies just a little inside. Because humans can connect to anything. We can sympathize with a pencil, we can forgive a shark, we can give Ben Affleck an Academy Award for screenwriting.”

Marius nodded in agreement. 

(Cosette leaned over to whisper in Marius’s ear, “Wait, isn’t that the guy from  _He’s Just Not That Into You_?”)

Grantaire spared her a short glare before continuing, “People can find the good in just about anything but themselves. Look at me. It’s obvious to all of you that I’m awesome –“ (several people groaned; Eponine rolled her eyes)”- and yet, if I agreed with you, I would be an ass. But I can think Enjolras is awesome in ways that I’m not. He’s got perfect hair. He’s driven. Some people have to be driven or the power goes off and the ice cream melts.”         

Enjolras appeared to actually be blushing; he fiddled with his color-coded sticky notes, but he was smiling.

“And look at Mabeuf. Other guys his age are locked up in their houses yelling at the people on TV for farting, but this guy is out here, with us, even though he’s earned the right to dismiss us.”

Mabeuf nodded self-importantly, sitting up a little straighter.

“Just like Feuilly’s earned a little elbow room, and a lot of respect—not as a husband, not as a father. It’s time for him to be a  _man_. And don’t test him on that, because that thing about the jukebox was way too specific to be improvised. We want him on our side when we rumble with the other study groups.”

Now everyone was nodding, even offering little murmurs of assent. Feuilly grinned, ducking his head.

“You want Cosette, too,” Grantaire went on.  “That’s why we’re tempted to dis the jacket—because it’s a symbol that intimidates us. You think astronauts go to the moon because they hate oxygen? Come on, they’re trying to impress their high school’s prom queen. And well they should, because I saw our track team tonight and I’m pretty sure Cosette’s gonna be a big dog on campus.

Cosette smirked (to her credit, she didn’t stick her tongue out at Enjolras).

“And Marius. You know, God made people with minds that wander because the answers we need are barely ever the ones we’re asking. Marius is a shaman—ask him to pass the salt, you get a bowl of soup. And guess what? Soup is better. Marius is better.”

Marius frowned and said to the air, “This speech is good. Way too good to be off-the-cuff. And it sounds really familiar. That TV show…what was it called?” Nobody heard him.

Grantaire paused, looking around the group. “You’re all better than you think you are. You’re just not designed to believe it when you hear it from yourself. So everybody, do me a favor, and look to the person on the left.” 

Slightly confused, everybody complied.

(Shit. Oh, holy shit. Enjolras was on his left and turned that gorgeous neck towards Cosette and exposed the most tantalizing bit of clavicle Grantaire had ever seen -) 

He blinked rapidly and continued. “I want you to extend to that person the same compassion you extend to sharks, pencils and Ben Affleck. I want you to say to that person, ‘I forgive you.’ Go ahead.’”

Awkwardly at first, but quickly gaining conviction, they each said it: “I forgive you.” By the end, everybody was grinning and looking much better than they had when Grantaire first walked in.

“Now look at me,” Grantaire said; all eyes immediately turned towards him. “You just stopped being a study group. You actually never  _were_  a study group to begin with, and I’m sorry for that.” (Enjolras resisted the urge to scoff.) “But you have now become something unstoppable. I hereby pronounce you a community.”

"Community," repeated Cosette musingly. 

"Oh, that’s the show you plagiarized the speech from!" burst Marius suddenly. "You watch it too? I mean, it only worked temporarily  _there_ , but  _you_  aren’t planning on cheating your way through class - “

"Huh?

"The main character in the actual show screwed everything up by trying to cheat his way through class - "

“ _What show?_ ”

"You’re not planning on getting an answer key to the quiz or anything?"

"I  _wish_ , but how - “

"Okay, that’s it, so I guess we’re good now."

"Marius, I have absolutely no idea what you’re - "

Grantaire was cut off abruptly as Marius looked straight ahead at nobody in particular.

“And…cut! Fade to black.” He winked. 

"What the hell is - "

Suddenly, the power in the entire building went out.


End file.
